dyspepsia at the lowest cost in
the Quarter."

XLI

Philip walked down the Boulevard du Montparnasse. It was not at all like
the Paris he had seen in the spring during his visit to do the accounts of
the Hotel St. Georges--he thought already of that part of his life with a
shudder--but reminded him of what he thought a provincial town must be.
There was an easy-going air about it, and a sunny spaciousness which
invited the mind to day-dreaming. The trimness of the trees, the vivid
whiteness of the houses, the breadth, were very agreeable; and he felt
himself already thoroughly at home. He sauntered along, staring at the
people; there seemed an elegance about the most ordinary, workmen with
their broad red sashes and their wide trousers, little soldiers in dingy,
charming uniforms. He came presently to the Avenue de l'Observatoire, and
he gave a sigh of pleasure at the magnificent, yet so graceful, vista. He
came to the gardens of the Luxembourg: children were playing, nurses with
long ribbons walked slowly two by two, busy men passed through with
satchels under their arms, youths strangely dressed. The scene was formal
and dainty; nature was arranged and ordered, but so exquisitely, that
nature unordered and unarranged seemed barbaric. Philip was enchanted. It
excited him to stand on that spot of which he had read so much; it was
classic ground to him; and he felt the awe and the delight which some old
don might feel when for the first time he looked on the smiling plain of
Sparta.

As he wandered he chanced to see Miss Price sitting by herself on a bench.
He hesitated, for he did not at that moment want to see anyone, and her
uncouth way seemed out of place amid the happiness he felt around him; but
he had divined her sensitiveness to affront, and since she had seen him
thought it would be polite to speak to her.

"What are you doing here?" she said, as he came up.

"Enjoying myself. Aren't you?"

"Oh, I come here every day from four to five. I don't think one does any
good if one works straight through."

"May I sit down for a minute?" he said.

"If you want to."

"That doesn't sound very cordial," he laughed.

"I'm not much of a one for saying pretty things."

Philip, a little disconcerted, was silent as he lit a cigarette.

"Did Clutton say anything about my work?" she asked suddenly.

"No, I don't think he did," said Philip.

"He's no good, you know. He thinks he's a genius, but he isn't. He